The Spoiled Sun
by LuvEwan
Summary: A Master reaches a difficult decision and years later, makes amends. AU from TPM. COMPLETE.
1. Part One

**The Spoiled Sun**

A Vignette by LuvEwan

** O **

PG

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Title taken from the Lee Alexander/Norah Jones song 'Toes'.

_A Master reaches a difficult decision and years later, makes amends. AU from TPM. ._

O 

The mists drifted like ghosts over the surf.

And the sand was like ash, staining the skin of his toes down to the cracks. His feet were smeared gray as he walked along the beach, the wind lashing his ratted leggings and pulling at his sleeves. It was another strain, another battle.

But today, he thought he would lay down his arms, and leave the fighting to stronger warriors in far-off places. He let the breeze take his breath and the weight from his back, until he was braced by cold mounds, and the dense air crept over his bare flesh. The sky was a splotched composition of slate and cobalt.

It was his day.

His dominion of the hours, during which he would be unchained. There was to be no instruction or brutally repetitious reprimand. He would not bow or grimace or balance his body into flawless kata position or smile. No one would demand anything of him.

Until tomorrow, when it began again.

His student had been elevated to that bittersweet status, when the lessons of a mentor were finished...and when they became most potent. But, in another observance of the irony of life, he knew he wouldn't witness his decade of advice and guidance put to use. He would forever feel that warm welling of pride in his chest, instantaneously, whenever he thought of his former apprentice. There were few things you could truly claim as your own, so when he recognized it, he grabbed hold. But despite the tenacity of his fingers, he knew he would rarely, if ever, see Anakin Skywalker again. He couldn't expect the young man to delay what would surely be an illustrious career, merely to travel the dull distance to this place and roam through an ever-shifting fog.

The boy was meant for better things. He would forget his old teacher, willfully marooned on a humid, lusterless seaside.

Yes, he had decided. It was his day of rest and rebellion, but there had been a purpose to his excursion. It was here that he would make a home, out of the ghosts, out of the memories.

Tomorrow he would return to Coruscant, one last time. And he would bring back what he could never let go.

**O**

The Jedi Temple stood as a polished silver monument, reminding him of simpler times and gentler eras, without the feverish pulse of greed and hidden agenda. The Universe would continue in its gradual decay, nothing could stop that, but the Order would never crumble among the rubble. It was a comfort to him, whenever an assignment pierced another patch of his heart, that the Jedi were solid and good to the core.

Some might accuse him of rather blatant blindness in that respect, but he dismissed it. They couldn't understand why he bound his faith to what was secretly referred to as a dying creed. He alone knew it was a forced-and necessary- confidence.

He _needed _to believe the Jedi were safe in their natural prosperity. It was the only way he could leave them without his soul collapsing. And more than he needed them to survive, he needed to leave them.

He strode through the halls, and couldn't hear the murmurs, spoken softly behind hands. The somber words fell in the distance, beyond his reach. Soon, it would all fade in the mélange of quiet hues and howling surf.

If his mind would have been open to such speculation, he would have noticed it was easier to maneuver through the corridors. He would have noted that it seemed to clear a little more with every passing year, as more Knights were dispatched on missions from which they would never return. But in the controlled perimeters of his thoughts, he attributed it to the unpopular hour, and was thankful for the spot of luck. He wanted to arrive at his destination as soon as possible.

The walls slowly paled to cream, and an acrid, sterile scent sharpened in the atmosphere, standing the hair on his arms. Earth-toned tunics melded with translucent smocks.

A familiar conflict rose within him. In some ways, the Healing Ward was beautiful, a source of warmth and assuredness, because _he _would always be there, in form if not spirit. _He _was there in the maze of rooms, waiting. And _he _was like a remnant of a beloved age since passed. Unbroken. Untangled.

But the chains of the place were there, clear tubes and solemn monitors, empty walls. It was a bitter trade he made, coming here. Yet, for all the glances at cool steel machinery and white sheets, there was still _him_, overwhelmingly.

He had no need for pause at the reception desk. There was a rotating schedule of Healer Padawans who sat behind it, but they knew him well, and never bothered him with inquiries. He tried to remember their faces, but they mixed in a blur, and he doubted he could distinguish them outside of the Ward. His memory had been keener, once. But he was no longer young. His days of recklessness and maverick adventure were caged. And it seemed the things he _did _remember should have best been forgotten.

None of that would matter now. The years for Anakin were over, his day was done. Tomorrow, and every tomorrow afterwards, would be dedicated to the present. To _him_.

It was a plan first devised a decade before, on a dark afternoon of brewing rain. It had been a moment of devastating sacrifice, for the greater good. For Anakin, the Chosen One, and for the Jedi, who so needed him and the purity of his power. But he had promised himself it wouldn't last into eternity, that there would be time for redemption.

And there was. The streamers had fallen, the braid was severed and good-byes were painfully uttered. So the time had come. The Council wouldn't approve. But then, the Council _never _approved.

He rounded the final corner, until he was standing at the door he knew as well as his own. He inhaled deeply, one last calm breath, and stepped inside.

The music was constant, streaming from slender twin speakers in mild, graceful minstrels. It was played during every stage of the sky, whether the room was flooded by moonlight or sun. It was played despite the strict policy of silence in the Ward. It was played to drown out unwanted voices.

A sigh broke away from Qui-Gon, and he moved to the center of the room, stopping beside the bed. He reached down to stroke the silken locks, grown out of the closely shorn spikes, but still cropped. A shaft of gold bleeding through the blinds slashed across the relaxed face, and he smiled, taking in the softly illuminated features. "Good morning, Obi-Wan."

**O**

_He said it every morning, as dawn saturated the black sky. And every morning, he was met by quiet eyes, and was left unanswered. _

_Naboo stretched around him in pastel loveliness, but he had come to despise the lush greenery and ancient chisel work. It was like a single painting hung in a blank cell. Eventually, he sealed the shutters and closed the drapes. He hated waking to the too-familiar landscape, knowing he was such a great distance from the life he-they-had known._

_Qui-Gon shifted in his chair and wiped the remains of a scant, three hour night's sleep from his eyes. He sighed. In the beginning, thoughts had swarmed his mind during all the solitary hours. Flickers of a brilliant smile, scraps of missions won and hopes lost. The cultured dulcet had been there, speaking of spar technique and danishes and why he was too old for curfew and too young to attend the dance with the elderly Queen of Bejia, who smelled like a 'fermented vegetable'. _

_But there was static now. Soon, he thought, the silence of the room and the stillness of that mouth would be enough to erase the last noise from his head. And the Sith would take another victory, though its mutant form was no more than dust lining a generator core. _

_He shuddered and sat forward, taking a hand between his own. The fingers were limp and cold. If the eyes had not been open, and he wasn't aware of the situation, he would have assumed..._

_No. He wouldn't cross morbid lines. Obi-Wan was _here_, body unharmed by the enemy's blade. The Master was told, with great certainty, that his apprentice would live. A conviction that depended on what one considered to be the true functions of 'living'. His chest moved, and several monitors sounded a regular heartbeat. _

_Yes, Obi-Wan was alive. He just didn't sleep, or eat--or speak. _

_Qui-Gon's first thought when he found him, once the rapture of simply seeing his student ,breathing, had passed, was not one he was proud of. He looked down at Obi-Wan, curled on the icy generator floor with horribly vacant eyes, and the word exploding in his mind had been _shell_. The body crumpled at his feet was _not _Obi-Wan Kenobi. He had the face, but inwardly, nothing was the same. The waters were flat. _

_Shock was an early diagnosis, but four days later, that explanation was abandoned. Qui-Gon had never known a mind as stable and organized as Obi-Wan's. Not even the reemergence of the Dark could have caused such a reaction. Physicians encircled the young man for another week, running countless tests and sketching out a tentative list of possible conditions. But every theory was dashed, each hypothesis disproved._

_Twenty eight days after his inexplicable collapse during the Sith duel, Obi-Wan was still completely unresponsive. He sat upright, supported by pillows and staring with a glossed, unblinking gaze. He kept the anonymous vigil through endless nights, despite his Master's efforts to coax him into rest. _

_And it took on a new cruelty, when Qui-Gon surrendered to a moment of weakness, the questions and fear, his own crushing sense of futility, and gathered Obi-Wan in his arms, only to feel the rigidity of the posture, the cold detachment of the mind. He let go then, not wanting to embrace the statue of a once-warm soul. It was that instant, he supposed, that his separation from the events began. He existed in a state of disbelief, mind swept clean. He watched the daily trudge of the doctors assigned to the case, but wouldn't allow the bright burn of prayer into his heart. It never helped. They never found anything new. _

_So Qui-Gon had convinced himself that this day, a few shy of a month spent in this room, would offer no miracles. A Temple mind healer would be arriving, along with Master Yoda, within the hour. And they would sift through the report, the motionless figure would undergo yet another examination. They would ask Qui-Gon to repeat words that blistered his lips. Finally, they would step back, chew the facts like an animal gnawing meat lazily from a bone, and admit defeat. He could picture the entire scene--after all, he had witnessed it half a dozen times before._

_He blinked, realizing he was caught up in a trance, and felt shame ignite within him. If only his Padawan could be cured so easily. _

_He closed his eyes and grasped the frail imitation of his center. The Force swelled around him, but it was bereft of color or vibrancy. It merely was. _

_"Where are you, Obi-Wan?" He rasped, opening his eyes to damp slits, "Why can't you come back to me?"_

_The young face was frozen and suddenly, Qui-Gon was seized by the impulse to shake the stiff shoulders, to force movement however he could. It would be better than this limbo, this cold valley of stares and silent breaths. His hands were reaching when his mind jolted, and he was in the present again, revolted by what he was about to attempt. _

_Obi-Wan wasn't in the throws of a tantrum. He wasn't punishing Qui-Gon for his recent mistakes. He was ill, and behind the thick gates of his thoughts, he was alone. _

_Qui-Gon raised his hand, but it was with tender fingers that he caressed a cool cheek. "It _will _be alright, Obi-Wan. I promise you." He searched the dusky blue depths of the eyes, and in a sober tone, "I know you can hear me," He smiled, which had become foreign and awkward to him, " Hells, you could hear me a million light years away, even when I didn't want you to. So you must hear me now, Obi-Wan, when I tell you that I won't let you fade away in whatever prison you've been locked. I won't abide it. Not ever. Not MY_ _apprentice." _

_Amid the tumult of emotion and ferocity of dedication, Obi-Wan sat, mesmerized by whatever had been scrawled over his consciousness. There was no indication, not so much as a sliver, that he had heard._

_"It doesn't matter what they say." Wearily, Qui-Gon leaned his temple against Obi-Wan's, and waited._

**O**


	2. Part Two

**Shanobi **I'm sorry it disturbs you...on to more lighthearted fare, like _Cadence_. Hee hee. But I'm very glad to know you're reading!

**Ewan's girl **You're very sweet. Thank you.

**CYN** I guess I should've mentioned that it was a multi-part story. That was a little misleading, leaving it there. But I was so flattered to read that it could've worked as a stand-alone. That made my day. ï

**Seria23** Thank you!

I think this site is a hotbed for spyware. I swear, my computer is murdered by this place. Hopefully that problem will be solved for awhile... Hope you guys like the new chapter. It's short, but I'm going on vacation starting Thursday, so I wanted to give what I had so far.

O 

_A trio of spindly, crimson fingers were splayed across Obi-Wan's forehead, searching for the unnamed poison absorbed in his system. _

_Qui-Gon and Yoda sat in tense audience. Healer Me'orah was a centuries-old expert, an adept of psychology from birth. His willowy form was bent over the bed in such a way that he appeared to be boneless, a tunic flowing from skeletal shoulders to jutting ankles. His inspection was entering its second, silent hour, and Qui-Gon knew that his fingernails would gut into the flesh of his palms before it was done. _

_The eldest member of the Order watched with heavy eyes, a solemn tiredness surrounding his drooping countenance._

_Qui-Gon stole an occasional glance at the sage, but had yet to muster the courage to speak-to ask the thing he dreaded most. So they were planted in a web that suffocated their speech and bound their minds to the same shadowed thoughts. It was another hollow of Hell. How he wanted to scream, but what little strength he had. _

_Narrowly escaping a third cycle of grinding minutes, Me'orah took a step backward, released a breath, and turned his crisply yellow eye to the others. "There is enormous brain activity."_

_He wasn't awash with relief or shock. "What?" Qui-Gon's forehead crinkled. "What do you mean?"_

"_Your apprentice is wide awake. His eyes aren't dead-staring, Master Jinn. He's seeing something we can't."_

_Qui-Gon's gaze flickered to Obi-Wan. "Hallucinations?"_

_Me'orah brought his hands together in a placid clasp. "I don't believe so. From young Kenobi's files, I've gathered that he has a sharp sensitivity to prescience. Master Yoda supports this, and has informed me that you have acknowledged the gift as well."_

"_Yes. I've trusted his skills with foresight. He's rarely been wrong." Qui-Gon shook his head, "But he's never suffered catatonia as a side-effect."_

_Yoda straightened, flaccid ears flattening against his head. "Never have his predictions been so clear. So great in their span and potential impact."_

_The Healer nodded. "What I can surmise is that this latest vision has been severely difficult for him to digest. His mind is in over-drive, and has shut down most everything else in order to cope. Including mental connections. He's making it so that what he sees is exclusive to him."_

_Qui-Gon pressed his fingers to his temple. "Why would he do that? Why wouldn't he allow me to share the knowledge?" They were questions snuffed out by a horrible, blossoming understanding. He remembered walking beside Obi-Wan, a lifetime or a month before, the soft glow of space spreading delicate blue on their skin. He remembered the strain of the young features._

"I have a bad feeling about this."

_Yes. Obi-Wan _had _revealed his misgivings, but so quickly Qui-Gon had dismissed them, as though his Padawan were a child fearing the scent of coming rain. _

"_Force," He uttered, dropping his head in his hands. The guilt ravaged his insides. "He tried. He did try, Masters. But I wasn't listening. My concentration was completely elsewhere. On Naboo, on the damned Federation. Everywhere but him." The moisture had been sucked dry from his mouth, and his voice was left as a husk. "And now he won't let me listen, will he?"_

_Me'orah's lips set in a hard line. "We don't know that for certain, Master Jinn. He's in the first stage of what could be a long process. There could come a time of acceptance for him, and afterward, he might lower his shields."_

_Without solace, Qui-Gon turned his eyes to the wall, away from the accusation he imagined on two faces, and the vacuity he knew would be held on the other. "But none of this is guaranteed. Is it?"_

_A sigh. "No. Not so early in. I know it sounds unfathomable, but in this case, we must...we must wait and see."_

"_Wait and see." Qui-Gon mocked in a whisper. The weariness was bleeding into his tone, and he knew it. "And how long will you permit the wait to last?"_

_The lone, oily saffron eye blinked. "As long as it takes."  
_

_Qui-Gon stood. "Then that's how long I'll wait with him. When he's ready, I'll be there."_

"_And what of young Skywalker?" Yoda wondered with a touch of sad rebuke. The Master had been against Anakin's Jedi training, and though Obi-Wan's sudden affliction had drawn attention away from that specific controversy, the topic had obviously never been dropped from his mind. _

_In truth, Qui-Gon had forgotten, once the boy was taken to Coruscant when it was certain that Obi-Wan would not be prepared for transport for some time. "Anakin will need a few years of general study before he is at the proper level for a Padawan Learner. He can remain with me, since it will be a difficult transition for him. But for now, Obi-Wan is _still _my apprentice." He turned then, to run his hand down the soft auburn spikes, "It was a mistake to ever deny that. I must be given the chance to mend it. If this is truly his injury, then he should be allowed to go home, to familiarity."_

"_In the Temple, he shall recover." Yoda confirmed. "But how long he will remain in the old quarters, decided it must be. For the well-being of all involved."_

_By this time, Qui-Gon was barely aware of the words. It was temporary victory, yet it would grant him the only thing he wanted. _

_He would be there. _

**O**


	3. Part Three

**Ewan's girl **I actually had a pretty good vacation, thank you. ;)

**Athena **It is really sad. I think it's the saddest thing I've ever written, and I'm not really happy with it. It started out alright but it's just very depressing to write. I'm glad you're enjoying, though!

**Emerald1** Thank you.

**O**

_Another evolution of the moon, set in the inky backdrop of the Courscant sky, and the ship ride home had become a stale memory on the edge of his tongue. _

_Nothing had changed. Two more weeks and not a quiver of an eyelash. His initial thought, that the surroundings would trigger life in his Padawan's intensely focused eyes, was tarnished with each passing day. Day after day, conformed to a single room and set of tasks. There was no stir in the monotony. Color never drifted outside the strict palate of the walls and bedclothes. _

_The only light was Anakin, bounding into the gray chamber with a busted droid part or newly learned joke. Qui-Gon was always relieved at the sight, and would usher the boy close, listening to the endless chatter and answering the questions that came bursting like sea spray, cool and calming-though occasionally unexpected. But the Master had his limits. Inquiries about Obi-Wan, of any nature, were instantly halted, and the conversation would be redirected, ultimately spiritless._

_His ward was mostly absent, though, occupied by a batch of classes and the teeming well of entertainment the Temple had to offer a wide-eyed Tatooine native._

_For the majority of the time, Qui-Gon sat at Obi-Wan's bedside, waiting and watching._

_In the lonely lurch that stretched over the night, he would begin to wonder if he was waiting for an impossible miracle. If he was watching for a ghost. _

_Today WOULD be different, if for no other reason than that he would not be a passive witness. He couldn't tolerate another dark layer under Obi-Wan's eyes. He would force the sinister surge in that tender mind to relent, to give his apprentice over to slumber's gentle arms. Tonight, Obi-Wan would sleep._

_The Healers had begun to pressure Qui-Gon upon his arrival. Strong sedatives were believed to be the only effective inducement, but their effects could not be deciphered, considering the perplexities of Obi-Wan's condition. He wasn't willing to jeopardize what remained of his student's health. There had to be alternatives._

_But the mild whisper of his fingers against a cold temple wouldn't weigh down the lids, nor would the downy cushion of a pillow tempt the head. _

_And Qui-Gon could feel himself twisting in the enslavement that insomnia wrought him. His own eyes were tied to endless, aching sight. He couldn't rest while Obi-Wan sat as the rigid sentinel of the night, nor could he perform in full capacity, so fogged was his brain. For Obi-Wan, and somewhere deeper, for himself, Qui-Gon had to end it. _

_When the chimes brushed in a melodious signal of the eleventh hour, he moved from his chair to the side of the bed and cradled Obi-Wan's limp hands. The skin was sallow where it met with the cast of moonlight; Qui-Gon brought those hands to his face and pressed his mouth against the knuckles. "Long hours, my Padawan." He whispered. "And you've never rested."_

_The tease lay in the features, for they were still Obi-Wan, youthful and handsome and sharply familiar. But now, Qui-Gon could compare them to the etched countenance of a marionette. Obi-Wan wouldn't move, save to capture and release breath. It _was _his apprentice, to which he could speak a thousand secrets and shared memories and puns. There simply wouldn't be a reply or a smile, a quiet laugh. _

_Always, it was the frozen face._

_Qui-Gon sighed and smoothed a wandering lock of hair from Obi-Wan's forehead. "If I don't lose you to this demon vision, I'll lose you to sleep. I'm...I'm afraid you'll just slip away. That you'll shut down and fall to the exhaustion. It's too much for you, Obi-Wan. To sit awake as the days-the _weeks_-go on. It would be too much for anyone."_

_To an outsider, it would appear that Obi-Wan was cruelly indifferent to his teacher's concerns, ignoring the pain that rolled from the bruised aura. _

_But Qui-Gon kindled the faith that, amid the chaos of his prescience, there was a sweet pool of sanity where Obi-Wan heard the words. Heard and remembered. _

"_It's late. I always thought eleventh chime was too late, but then, you thought fifth was too early the next morning. We were..._ARE _balanced in that way." A smile curled his lip. "I suppose it's the sadist in me that loves to sneak into your room and pry the covers from your hands. But sometimes, you just need to see the sunrise more than the inside of your own eyelids." His fingers coursed a high cheek, the humor hardening in a fresh desperation and shaking on his mouth, "You can sleep in tomorrow, Obi-Wan."_

_But the offer dwindled to dust in the silence. _

_He swallowed, and felt the stab in his throat. Beyond Obi-Wan, the city pulsed in electric kaleidoscope._

_And again, his mind was filled with his Padawan. But the images were softer, vivid for their goodness rather than the heartache they produced. Obi-Wan, barely fourteen and face blotched red, making a timid entrance to Qui-Gon's quarters. The fever had burned on his face and in his voice, when he uttered the man's title in a rasp. Qui-Gon had been surprised. The boy generally kept to himself when it came to injury and ailment. Sometimes, his concealment was so flawless Qui-Gon wouldn't realize until a deliberate mental probe. _

_But the misery thick in young Obi-Wan's senses had won over his subdued nature, and he came to sit beside his Master, patient for acknowledgement. _

_Qui-Gon's first inclination had been to escort the child to the Healing Wing, but when dread overtook the agony on the pinched face, Qui-Gon had relented, gathering Obi-Wan to his chest and shushing the moans by turning them both toward the window, and quietly describing the happenings throughout the cityscape. Ever driver had its own silly history, every sign blinked a different, vibrant hue. And Obi-Wan had slept in the unique cradle of his Master's speech, well into the morning._

_It was a method tirelessly employed at bedsides. To alleviate suffering, distraction could prove vital. _

_Perhaps even for the rock-hard concentration of an eternity-long trance. _

_With a tentativeness uncharacteristic of his massive frame, Qui-Gon reached out to draw his fingers along Obi-Wan's cheekbone. "My Padawan. You remember." He smiled, "I know you do. If only you'd let the memories fill your mind, instead of a future we just can't be sure of. Be here, and push tomorrow away. In the moment, Obi-Wan. You've forgotten your Master's words."_

_His voice strained to push through the barriers, but Obi-Wan's fixation was unmoved._

_Qui-Gon sealed his eyes, and the lights were hot on his temples, contrasting sharp with the chilled skin of the hand he held. What was he to do, when his strength was frozen and encased in an unblinking shell? How could he speak to Obi-Wan of the ribbons of fire from the cloud cars and the stumbling drunk on the curb and everything else, as though nothing were different? It would be denying his own uproarious pain, a session of brutal pretending. _

_He inhaled, drawing from his last reserves. When he allowed sight to burn him once more, he slipped behind the brick that was Obi-Wan's back and rested his hand along the stiff base of the pale neck. The window rolled an endless panorama of nightlife, and appeared to stretch out into a floating infinity. He drew nearer to his apprentice, near enough to hear the breath slip from his slack lips. _

"_The sky is dark," He began in a whispered baritone, "But it makes everything glow. The colors are brighter at night. The sidewalks are gray, but they look almost white now, except for the places where the signs reflect. Orange energy erupts in blinks from the little diner. Open all night, it says. But we know that, don't we?" Qui-Gon rasped his laughter, shoulders shaking, "Back from our third trip to Malastaire, the sun hours away, and you were whining, of course, that you were starving. I was satisfied to grab something from the Dining Hall, but you looked absolutely revolted by the idea. You talked me into stopping over at the diner. It turned out alright though, if you'll recall. We didn't have to return to Malastaire for the fourth round. You couldn't leave the apartment."_

_The Obi-Wan he knew would have turned a furious shade of red at the recollection, but the young man sitting on the bed was unaware and offered no embarrassed protests. _

_Qui-Gon stroked his hair, and soon was tracing the plaits of the braid, as if treading the paths of a thousand faded days. "You can really see the stars tonight. They're always there, but mostly, we're ignorant of their beauty. They're hovering above us, but we're so concerned about everything else, we become numb to them. Because they're a constant. We don't have to appreciate what will never leave us." The air in his lungs thickened to vapor and hot moisture escaped the corners of his eyes. "Obi-Wan..."_

_It was a long while before he could speak again, and his voice was hopelessly unsteady. "There's a little ship puttering along; it looks small enough for Master Yoda. But we know he's a speed demon, so it couldn't be him. There's a kid swerving and doing tricks in the far lane. Garen would put him to shame, I think." He tucked a hair behind Obi-Wan's ear. "He wants to see you. Garen does. And your other friends. It would upset them, strong as they are. Resilience reaches its limits."_

_The city finally melted into the diluted waters of his vision and he closed the drapes with a faint suggestion of the Force. And then it was only he and Obi-Wan, alone in the quiet and the darkness. "Everyone else...they're moving so fast," He said through the stillness, "And they're oblivious to life, the stars. But I won't be, Padawan." He shuddered, "Not anymore."_

_In the pall, there were no eyes with their horrified shine. There was Obi-Wan, forsaken in mind but spared in body, and so there was reason to collect that body close in Qui-Gon's arms, to honor and protect what was left. A dimmed light was still one to be cherished, no matter its weakness. _

_Stars could be replaced in the natural cycle. Other things couldn't be._

_He held Obi-Wan, and felt the terrible brace of unyielding bones in his posture. And the cold—he felt cold, more than he could comprehend. Obi-Wan, wherever the demented visions of tomorrow had taken him, was cold. Qui-Gon stretched out the cloak he was wearing, tucking it around the other man and keeping it in place with a gentle embrace. A smile dawned slowly on his face, though hidden by shadow. "This reminds me of the mission to Sterla III, when we were stranded in the middle of absolute nowhere, and walked for about a week to reach civilization. By the time we arrived, we'd been pushed far beyond exhaustion. The palace was extravagant. Lots of food, so I'm sure you'll remember it. And the beds were piled in heavy linens and pillows. I thought I'd sleep for about two weeks, but your eyes were wide open and I couldn't let go until I knew you had. I remember you had a cut on your cheek from a low branch that scraped across it, and you were wearing the ridiculously expensive sleep clothes the Queen provided, same as me. I asked what was wrong, but you weren't sure. I sat beside you for awhile, and I saw how tired you were. Too tired, even, for sleep. I put my arm around your shoulders and whispered the Starlight Rhyme, the one they sing to the children in the Temple. You argued you were really very old to be sung to and I laughed, I think. I knew that would never be true."_

_He leaned forward, to murmur close to his ear, "I have to believe you can hear me, Obi-Wan." His jaw, and his heart, tightened. "I have to."_

_And the lyrics lit the darkness in soft, warm ambience, a cadence reflected in the Force, where the Master sought again to reach his apprentice. When he reached the end, he merely returned to the beginning verse; he wouldn't allow himself to be discouraged by the unbending limbs. He sang in a voice different from that which he presented to the rest of the Universe. It was the voice of his thoughts, the most intimate pitch, never before shared. There was vulnerability to that voice as it was carried over the darkened room and the Force. It was a fragility he had shielded from his student, in the notion that it would harm his own standing with the youth. _

_But Obi-Wan had never needed perfection or a hero._

_He needed his Master, in full, unbiased attention. In a basic and unpolished reality._

_Qui-Gon broke away from the ancient song long enough to assure him, "I'm here, Obi-Wan."_

_Several hours later, and with a dried throat, he was able to settle in the silence. He supported Obi-Wan, lax and unconscious, against his chest._

_The black sky was flirting with gray, he observed with heavy eyes. But he, too, was asleep at sunrise._

O 


	4. Part Four

**Ewan's girl **Thank you.

**Athena **Thanks so much for your support.

**Rieyeuxs **Wow, your review was very flattering. All I can really think to say is thank you.

**Master kaym **_At least Ani's out of the picture _Is he?

**O**

The first year had been difficult, and the saddest moments of that time swirled in the chalice, deep violet.

_Qui-Gon could hear the excited crackling of conversation from his place on the balcony. He stood, drink in one hand, the silken tips of Obi-Wan's hair in the other. That hair had grown longer, to the neck, and was combed once a day. _

_Below them, the Temple was caught up in a rare instance of utter celebration. It _was _the new year, and hopeful smiles spread on the faces he had known. _

_He took a long swallow of his wine. _

_Obi-Wan sat beside him, clad in both thermal tunics and his Master's cloak, to stave off the chill compounded by the twilight breeze. The ugly shadows beneath his eyes had been lessened by the few hours of sleep he garnered each night. _

_But the nightmares made sure they were never erased completely. _

_Sometimes, it was only whimpering, and Qui-Gon could bring him out of it quickly, without much damage. But more often, it was an onslaught of ragged screams, the kind born of terror. The same screams that populated the Master's nightmares. _

_Brilliant shimmers exploded in the sky, followed by a spirited round of applause. _

_He turned away, looking down at his Padawan. He wanted to apologize for the thoughts that trespassed his mind, thoughts of gratitude for the frightened cries that relieved the silence and brought him something of the young man he cared for. But instead, "Anakin's loving this, I bet. He'll probably swipe a few sticks and set them off in the apartment tonight." He laughed quietly. "He has enough energy for ten initiates."_

_Qui-Gon still waited for responses, and he paused before sinking into the other chair. "I wonder if maybe you would handle him better than I am. I think it's hard for him to relate to me, the old man that I am."_

_He couldn't deny the wear Obi-Wan's condition was to them both. Silver was overtaking chestnut in his hair, and it wasn't uncommon for him to skip meals, while assuring that his student's intravenous feedings were completed. _

_And how would he explain the facts, gritty and cruel, to Anakin?_

_Qui-Gon wrapped his fingers around Obi-Wan's. Once, about a month before, he was convinced he felt returned pressure when he held his hand and it had since become a test. He idly rubbed a circle in the cool palm with a thumb. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. You should be out with your friends tonight, not with me." He caressed the side of his face. "But next year, right?"_

O 

"_Shh," Qui-Gon soothed, "It isn't real, Obi-Wan. Dreams aren't real."_

_Spring was flourishing around the planet and within the Temple, yet Obi-Wan trembled. Small gasps scraped in the quiet, and the fear was entirely real._

_Qui-Gon held him tighter, "Wake up. Please. Tell me what it is, and I'll make it right. Anything, Obi-Wan, and I'll make it right."_

_A few more minutes, and he could sense Obi-Wan awaken. _

"_Tell me," He whispered fiercely, "Tell me what it is and I'll help. I'll do whatever it takes."_

_Qui-Gon waited, staring down at his student through the darkness. He wasn't sure if an hour or a minute passed before he abandoned the effort and leaned back against the wall, cradling Obi-Wan's head on his shoulder. He sought the hand—_

_And felt a weak squeeze from frigid fingers._

_Qui-Gon could scarcely believe it. "O-Obi-Wan?" The tears appeared before the smile could, "Can you hear me?"_

_No answer, but the grip was steady._

_Obi-Wan was holding on._

O 

_He wasn't sure what to do. _

_Obi-Wan's birthday had come midsummer, an event he meant to pass relatively unmarked. But Anakin discovered the special date and wanted very much to give him a party, the kind his mother had thrown on Tatooine. The excitement and sparkle of renewing a tradition of his old home had been beautiful in his young eyes, and Qui-Gon had felt his heart contract. _

_But he couldn't bring himself to feign celebration, not even for the kind boy who helped whenever and however he could. He couldn't sing jubilant tunes and eat cake while Obi-Wan sat, unaware. It was the day that marked growth in his life, but he was paralyzed in the moment on the generator floor. He was still twenty-five years old in his own mind, and in his Master's. Why wrap a present when it simply couldn't be opened?_

_So he had gently let Anakin down with the promise that when the boy's birthday came round, there would be a wonderful, magnificent party unequalled in fun and gaggy sweets. The child's grin had been blinding, and Qui-Gon was left with a clear conscience to sit beside his apprentice, grip his hand and talk of plain things._

_But now, a few months later, he just wasn't sure what to do._

_Anakin was eleven today, and mindful of the vow made by his guardian, had his young heart set on going to the races. Not just any races, the boy had assured him, but 'the fastest, most intense races with the sleekest vehicles. And it's not even illegal!'_

_A real positive, considering where his taste for speed and adventure could sometimes lead him. It was a small request that Qui-Gon was prepared to grant, but it brought up the torturous question:_

_What about Obi-Wan?_

_He had never left his Padawan for more than an hour since their return from Naboo, and it was only in circumstances involving the Council. Only in obligations he couldn't remove himself from, despite powerful attempts. How could he leave him now, not for official business, but to watch races on the other side of the planet? Who would ward off the nightmares and encourage movement from frozen fingers? _

_Anakin was already tearing his room apart in search of suitable material for his heroes to scrawl their autographs upon. He couldn't break the promise, and watch those little shoulders slump and the mouth hang in a frown. _

_Qui-Gon crouched before Obi-Wan, resting his palms on the blanketed knees. In the half-light of the bedroom, Obi-Wan's pallor was bleached and the drying tear tracks were once again visible on his thin cheeks. He had begun to cry, silently, in the day hours, always without consolation. Although, he wasn't always alone in his quiet weeping._

_Blunt, life-worn fingers stroked the places where the misery had fallen. "I won't be long, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon suddenly sealed his eyes, to combat the thought that his departure had brought the warm moisture to gray eyes, "Garen is in the Temple for awhile, so I'm going to ask if he can stay with you. He'll be…he'll be so happy to see you." A jagged boulder was lodged in his throat, he could barely swallow, "Maybe I've been selfish, keeping you to myself the way I have." He placed a soft kiss on Obi-Wan's temple and smoothed his hair, "I won't be long."_

_And then, as if to explain the betrayal Qui-Gon perceived it to be, "It's his birthday."_

_He composed himself and contacted Garen, who arrived quickly. The tall, dark-haired Knight had been skimpy on formalities, going to his oldest friend and folding his arms around him in a tender embrace. _

_Qui-Gon knew it was a private moment, but couldn't bring himself to separate from Obi-Wan, not yet. He watched Garen's head lean into the curve of Obi-Wan's neck and the small quakes begin to shake his broad back. From the passion of his sorrow, Qui-Gon had to wonder if the young Knight had ever allowed himself to mourn the tragedy of his friend—or if he was waiting until he saw for himself the aftermath._

He's been busy. A new Knight on missions. _Qui-Gon rationalized to himself. _There just wasn't time. _In his civil inner dialogue, there was no mention of the several instances when Garen would call and ask, in a mild tone uncharacteristic of the brash pilot, if he could visit Obi-Wan. _

_Anakin came bounding up to him, smiling widely. "Are you ready to go?"_

_Qui-Gon shook himself from the agonizing stupor and looked down at his ward, the tears retreating before they could descend. "We sure are." It was a lie, completely._

O 

The stands were packed, and even from his place among them, the crowds looked like a distant, dotted mosaic. The contestants pushed full throttle around the track, leaving thin streaks of exhaust to mingle with the dust. One driver narrowly avoided crushing into the sidewall, and there was a collective gasp from the fans.

_Beside Qui-Gon, Anakin released an exasperated, "Whoa!"_

_The Master smiled and laid a hand on Anakin's shoulder. It was a few minutes before there was enough of a lull in the action for him to speak. "Are you having a good birthday, Ani?"_

_He blinked up at Qui-Gon and nodded. "It's been the best."_

_Qui-Gon smiled again. "I'm glad." And it WAS true. He wanted Anakin to be happy. He just didn't want that happiness to come at the expense of Obi-Wan. But to stay in constant company with his Padawan would cheat Anakin._

_It seemed whatever he did, he was hurting someone._

_Qui-Gon looked away and swallowed. The buzz and roar of the race was at his ear, and he let himself be absorbed in the race. _

_If only for a few hours, his mind was without chains or pain._

O 


	5. Part Five

**Kynstar **Yes, Anakin is sweet. For the time being, anyway. Thank you so much for reading. 

**Ewan's girl **You'll see a little more of his friends. Thanks for your support.

**O **

_They walked the last blocks to the Temple, night freshly lain out around them. _

_Anakin was struggling to carry the stack of mementos he garnered, including small, model replicas of the racers and a checkered flag. Qui-Gon had offered to share the load, but the boy insisted he could manage just fine. _

_The air was beginning to lose the distinct scent of the arena, an odd mixture of sweet snacks and fuel. It was beginning to smell like the Temple, like home. _

"_Master Qui-Gon?"  
_

_He looked down at the youth and smiled. "Yes?"  
_

"_I wish Obi-Wan could've gone with us."_

_The comment dug into the most tender tissue of his heart, but he successfully combated a wince. "Me too."_

"_Do you think he ever will?"_

_Sharp fingers seized his lungs, and Qui-Gon endured the discomfort, to breathe. "I hope so, Ani." He glanced around the street, a once-familiar scene that had been sacrificed early. He used to walk these roads often, to visit friends or enjoy the atmosphere. But two years had gone so quickly and at such a crawl that he couldn't remember those friends, could barely recognize the city. _

"_What if he doesn't?" Anakin asked suddenly, not to evoke hurt, but in the natural curiosity of a child._

_Qui-Gon exhaled, and each stream of oxygen seemed to leave a streak of blood in his throat. "He will, Ani. Don't worry. He will."_

"_Do you think he'll be the same?"_

_He didn't allow himself time to think. "Of course he'll be the same. He's just…he's just tired. That's all."_

"_Oh." Anakin adjusted the burden in his arms, resting his chin on the bright, molded fin of a racer, "He must be really tired."_

_The wind was gaining strength as the night aged, and Qui-Gon was glad to finally escape the chill, entering the warm solace of the Jedi Temple. "You must be too, after the day you've had." He steered the conversation down a more cheerful path, for both their sakes, "And you have classes in the morning."_

"_Don't remind me." Anakin grumbled. "I wish I didn't have so many. Most of them are boring. I wish I was doing something else. Something better. More exciting."_

_Qui-Gon ran his fingers along the row of golden spikes. "Remember the importance of patience, Anakin."_

_A weary sigh. "Okay."_

_The lift jetted them up several levels, and as they ascended, the Master noticed that in his regulation tunics and close-cropped hairstyle, Anakin looked similar to the gangly Padawan with multi-hued eyes that earned an apprenticeship on the dismal gray world of Bandomeer. Despite the bright burn of memory, Qui-Gon smiled. He was exceedingly proud of Obi-Wan's accomplishments, but a small, selfish part of him longed for the days of his apprentice's childhood. A Jedi's life was never easy, but the complications were only finely tangled then. Growth smeared every line drawn in youth, forked every solitary path. _

_And yet, Obi-Wan now existed in a private cavern, a pocket of reality that was, in its own way, quite simple. The Universe was screaming and bustling and boiling—but it was all beyond the walls of the apartment, and so, beyond his comprehension. _

Or maybe he sees it all. Maybe he sees even more, and understands it better than the rest of us can. Maybe that's why he---_He halted the thought as they came to the door. Anakin had been elated by their adventure, but was currently weaving on his feet, souvenirs clutched to his chest. _

_Qui-Gon keyed the entrance code, his flesh chilled and prickled. He wasn't expecting miracles, Naboo had massacred any notion of such a thing, but being away had glazed the Temple in a new sort of shine. The door opened, and Anakin was a blur to his bedroom, while Qui-Gon lingered. The apartment looked the same, but the feel had been stirred by his brief absence. He suddenly wanted to see Obi-Wan, and traveled the corridor with light-headed intent, his own tiredness forgotten._

_The doorframe was softened by lamp light, and he swallowed an inexplicable lump that had thickened at the base of his throat. Garen had been kind to stay with Obi-Wan for the evening, but Qui-Gon was already anxious for the young Knight to leave. For all Obi-Wan knew, his Master had deserted him these last few hours. Qui-Gon would try to explain, as he did before. Maybe Obi-Wan would understand. Maybe he would—_

"_Where is he, Master Jinn?"_

_Qui-Gon was jilted by the quiet inquiry; so deep was he in his worried musings that he failed to notice his arrival at the bedroom. Garen was crouched beside Obi-Wan, Bant on the opposite end, each holding a lax hand. The three of them, fingers entwined, painted the entire thing as a twisted mockery of their friendship. Obi-Wan was there…but he wasn't. _

_Again, Qui-Gon had the urge to push them out, but instead, responded politely-and honestly. "I don't know."_

_Bant looked at him, huge eyes watered to a tragic, yellowed luminescence. "I don't understand how he could…how he…" She shook her head, "It's been so long and he's still…"_

_Her voice broke and Garen reached with his free hand to capture hers, his face chiseled in hard stoicism. _

This is why I didn't want them here. I shouldn't have left him with them. _Qui-Gon moved forward, to lay his hand on her shoulder. Her compassion was rich and beautiful for her friend, they had both been Obi-Wan's champions when Qui-Gon himself had been suspicious of the boy's purity and worth, but they didn't belong here. At least, not now. _

_He stepped back. "Thank you both for tonight." _

"_I had to tell Bant I was here." Garen told him, though the details were unprovoked, "She had to see him. We never thought we'd be allowed to."_

'Allowed' to? _Qui-Gon frowned. "I'm sorry. He's going through so much. It's difficult."_

"_We could help," Bant was composed, voice stronger, "You don't have to do all this alone, Master Jinn."_

"_Thank you," Qui-Gon smiled. "But I am rather tired."_

"_Of course. Yeah, we'll go." Garen got to his feet, his female counterpart pausing to brush a kiss between Obi-Wan's brows. They bowed to Qui-Gon before leaving._

_It occurred to him that he should have escorted them to the door, but he was already absorbed by the bittersweet rapture of his reunion with his student. He was glad to be with him again…but nothing had changed. The crisp sheen that coated the rest of the Temple had not reached Obi-Wan's eyes. _

_He was the same._

_Qui-Gon acknowledged the pain and forced himself to move past it. Yes, Obi-Wan was the same. He still needed his Master. So Qui-Gon would still be there. THAT, if nothing else, was simple. _

**O**

_Mornings were strange._

_When the sunlight was still pale, Qui-Gon had to rouse Anakin and send him off to his classes. Then he returned to the bedroom, where Obi-Wan would be in the last fitful hour or two of sleep, and he would sit beside him, waiting for his eyes to open. It was almost always silent, save for his occasional whispers, or creaks from the ancient Temple walls. _

_This morning had begun in a fashion identical to the rest. Anakin had trudged blearily from the apartment, mumbling. Qui-Gon stopped at the fresher to prepare himself for the new day, then poured a streaming mug of tea before rejoining his apprentice._

_He tipped the hot, ceramic rim to his lip and took a shallow drink as he walked into the dusky room. _

_It wasn't a moment later that the carpet was soaked with the warm brew, the mug on its side._

"_Obi-Wan?"_

_For two years his Padawan had been immobile, limbs locked in the shock of his visions. His only movement came in the thrusting fever of his nightmares, and even then, his weakness was painfully evident. _

_He was sure that when he left, Obi-Wan had been asleep beneath the blankets. Yes, he _was _there before. For Force's sake, where else in hells would he be?_

_But he was staring at an empty bed. _

_Qui-Gon took a breath, staving off the frenzy that was threatening his mind. He would need the rationality of a Jedi, now more than ever. He had to stop and think. Every week, he and a healer would help Obi-Wan walk a small strip of floor, to encourage circulation and retain his muscle mass. But with no one else, how could he…?_

_He turned around and calmly moved down the corridor, senses honed to startling acuity. The seconds were grinding before he grasped onto Obi-Wan's presence in the apartment._

Anakin's room.

_He ran the remaining distance, heart a resounding drumbeat in his ear. _

_The small Padawan quarters were pallid in the dawn, and Obi-Wan's skin was waxen white. He stood in the center of the room, model ships hanging from clear wires around his head, arms heavy at his sides. _

Obi-Wan's room.

_Qui-Gon wanted to rush to him, but for once, his feet were cemented. At first, he thought it a dream, but fantasy of any kind had been driven from his brain on a small, elegant little planet, the day they faced the Sith. _Gods, it's real. _His gasp was an inhale of frost. _It's real.

_Obi-Wan had been staring at the rumpled bed, and now looked up, to meet the gaze of his mentor. "It is…going to…to happen." The words came slow and with difficulty, "It…is…Master?_

'Master._' It never sounded so sweet as when it was uttered in that dulcet. A thousand questions were needling his mouth, born of shock and concern, but it was a chance to clear the dense clouds that stood between them, "What's going to happen, Obi-Wan?"_

_Obi-Wan pressed his fist to his forehead, clenching his eyes shut and inhaling raggedly. "Don't…don't let go, Master."_

_The blood surged back Qui-Gon's circulation at the desperate words spoken in such feeble faintness. He went to Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan not standing noble in his Jedi robes amid the Gungan marsh, but back slightly cowed, in the thick sleepclothes meant to ward off the perpetual winter of his body. It wasn't his student he moved towards; it was his child._

"_I won't let go." He assured Obi-Wan, capturing the beautifully, miraculously animated face in his hands. The eyes were lit again, not quite the way they had been, but there was a fresh-polished radiance to the wet gaze. "But you can't either, Obi-Wan. You MUST stay with me," The man couldn't help but marvel at every flicker of an expression that touched the face. He had taken it for granted, and so for two years existed in a state of cold punishment._

_Now…now Obi-Wan was flushed with a liveliness that had been thought all but extinguished. The fingers curved around the warm cheeks began to tremble, as though clutching an elusive treasure, "Please, stay with me."_

_A shudder surrounded and enfolded Obi-Wan. Then, very slowly, he leaned his head against the stalwart chest. _

_Warmth swelled beneath that chest, in a heart that had been torn and left raw as a ragged wound. He wrapped his arms tightly around the smaller form, breathless. "I can't do it, Obi-Wan. Now that you're here…you can't leave me again. Not ever. I can't do it." He pressed his lips into the soft, brown hair. The previous months became no more than a bizarre, dark instant. He couldn't imagine going back there. He _wouldn't _go back there. "I know what you've been through. I know you've seen something that's hurt and frightened you. But you can tell me Obi-Wan. You can tell me anything and I'll make it right."_

"_I…I told you." Obi-Wan whispered against the worn tunic. "Do not let go."  
_

_And since he had no plans to do otherwise, Qui-Gon obeyed.  
_

**O **

The healers were astounded, but not so enthused as the Master. The circumstances of his awakening were unexpected and certainly welcomed, yet it was not the leap of recovery all had hoped for.

_The test results came on an evening of gray rain. No one liked what they said._

**O**


	6. Part Six

Hey everyone. I apologize for my absence. Computer problems-I think everyone can understand that. So here's a new post. The end is definitely coming soon. If anyone's still reading, thank you for your patience. 

O 

_Qui-Gon stood at the stone lip of the Jedi Temple, the ancient steps leading up to (or away from) the ancient door, cowl rippled around his face. The rain streamed down the hood, tricking a wet screen in front of his eyes, though it never touched his skin. He crossed his arms against his chest and just stared out at the waterlogged panorama before him. _

_Faith for Obi-Wan was gone, drained from the Temple like rain down the gutters._

_He was walking and talking, but the Jedi physicians were displeased with the way of his steps and the meaning of his words. They claimed Obi-Wan was not returned to any of them. _

_But Qui-Gon knew better. When he spoke, his apprentice answered, usually, and that was far more than he could ever have prayed for. The Healers saw Obi-Wan as a specimen. They had poked and prodded him for two years while Qui-Gon had cared for his body and soul. What did they know of Obi-Wan, truly?_

_He sighed and allowed his eyes to close. They knew what the tests showed them, and the tests were unbiased. Something in him was different, threads had been severed and re-spliced. Internally, he wasn't functioning quite the same—and there was little optimism that he ever would. _

_How could that be? Psychic visions could be jarring, he knew that well enough, but how could they wield the power to stir the precious harmony of brain patterns? _

'He was lost for two years, Master Jinn. You cannot expect him to be retrieved from that unscathed.'

_Qui-Gon inhaled quickly and painfully, throwing back his head, and a huge, cold drop from the sky broke on his face, serving to conceal those that fell from his eyes. He wouldn't believe it. _

_He wouldn't believe any of it._

O 

_The weather was steady percussion against the windows and a soft relief from the silence. _

_Qui-Gon sat on the couch, Obi-Wan's head resting on his leg, and watched Anakin. The boy was marveling with ever-wide eyes at the display that had been all but foreign to him on the dustbowl world of Tatooine. Every now and then, a small smile would light the young countenance, and Qui-Gon would feel a tiny spot of that radiance within himself. _

_Anakin was responding well to the sudden change involving Obi-Wan. He was helpful and compassionate, in a way hardly anyone else was. It was good for the boy, in that he was able to see beyond the immediacy of his own problems and cares. _

"_Master?"_

_Qui-Gon looked down at Obi-Wan, whom he had thought to be asleep, and brushed fingers across his forehead. "Yes?"_

_The eyes were pale crystal; they were not focused on Qui-Gon, but drifted around the apartment. "It's raining."  
_

"_Yes, it is."_

"_When will it stop?"_

_Qui-Gon gently pressed his thumb into the dimple under Obi-Wan's mouth. " Whenever it decides to, I guess. Maybe when the sun comes up again."_

_Obi-Wan thought this through for a full minute, then, "The rain is better."_

O 

_And the darkness was better, too, when it came. It was rare for Qui-Gon to glean an entire night's sleep, and in the month and a half since Obi-Wan's awakening, he had felt the constant, dull burn of weariness. The nightmares transcended every level of the young man's consciousness, leaving him hysterical or stricken silent. There were scratches on their faces, grazes from fingernails, during such struggles, and Qui-Gon had no doubt the trauma imbedded itself into Obi-Wan's already fragile psyche. _

_Tonight there had been no sharp burst of screams; Obi-Wan lay awake, wandering the shadowed room with an increasingly heavy gaze. _

_In the quiet, Qui-Gon thought he could actually hear the night grinding on and falling away from him._

"_The sky is hideous when it's orange." Obi-Wan remarked. "I don't like it at all."_

_Qui-Gon laced their fingers together and leaned his head against the pillow. "Don't worry, Obi-Wan. The sky is blue."_

"_It's worse when it's red."_

"_It's not red." The older man assured him, closing his eyes. "Try to go to sleep."_

"_That's when it's red, Master." Obi-Wan whispered. _

_Qui-Gon's eyes opened to careful slits. "Is that what you dream about, Obi-Wan? Red skies?"_

"_I don't dream, Master."_

"_Everyone dreams. Even the smallest fish dream."_

"_Small fish explode, Master. Like everything else. They explode into dark."_

_Qui-Gon attempted to sort through the strange images the statements evoked, but they didn't piece together. Nothing Obi-Wan said connected, or, he had to admit, made much sense. "Why do they explode?"_

"_It hurts. It hurts everything, just for a second, and the sky changes color."_

"_And then what?"_

"_Then they're gone, Master. And it's dark."_

_Qui-Gon tightened his fingers around Obi-Wan's. "Does it scare you?"_

"_No. I'm not there." Obi-Wan blinked, and for a fleeting instance, looked directly into his teacher's eyes. "But it does hurt."_

O 

_Anakin speared a juicy piece of fruit and popped it in his mouth, glancing around the table, "Isn't Obi-Wan going to eat with us?"_

_Qui-Gon looked up at the plate he had been regarding with disinterest, "Not today, Ani."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because he's tired."_

"_He's _always _tired. But isn't he hungry?"_

_Qui-Gon sighed and took a drink. "He didn't want to eat."_

"_Oh." The boy swirled his fork around the half-empty dish. "Well, maybe he was too tired to come out here. We could bring him some food. Maybe he'd eat it there."_

_Qui-Gon reached over and ruffled the sun-blonde hair. "I don't think so, young one."_

"_Why wouldn't he want to eat? You said this was his favorite. Is he sick?"_

"_NO." He replied, a little harder than he meant. He watched the small features almost quiver at the strength of his voice, and he pressed his forehead into his hand, his own fingers atremble. "I'm sorry, Ani."_

"_It's okay." He laid his hand on Qui-Gon's arm, giving a tiny smile. "I know you're tired, too."_

_And his heart was in simultaneous shatter and fullness. He smiled back, crouching beside the child and gathering him in his arms, glad that Anakin could not see the gloss of tears that stung his eyes. _

O 

Qui-Gon stared down at the novel, trying to grasp onto the strings of words and follow the plot, but the sun was a bright glare burning his cheek. Obi-Wan was watching the window with unblinking focus, so he couldn't close the drapes. They sat together on the sofa at noontime, the day and the heat at pinnacle.

Finally, he forfeited, headache flaring, and set the tome aside.

Obi-Wan turned to him, as though he had been quietly waiting for the moment all the while. His hair was disheveled, and the ends were lit to copper. "Will you miss me?"

There was an avalanche in Qui-Gon's soul, breaking down reserves and exposing the bare bones of himself, parts of him that shivered and shied from fear. He grasped Obi-Wan's shoulders. "Why would I miss you? You're right here with me."

"Here with you. Now. But you can't hold onto everything. Your fingers will bleed and you'll let go of it all. But you can't let go, Master."

"Do you think I'd let go of you?" Qui-Gon wondered, catching the bristled chin in his hand. He shook his head. "I almost lost you…Obi-Wan, do you see something? Do you see something I don't?"

"It's hard to fight it. It's difficult not to see," Obi-Wan lowered his head and closed his eyes, "But it's worse to see."

Very tenderly, Qui-Gon cupped his cheek. "You don't fight alone, my Padawan."

**O**

He had to whisper. If he spoke any louder, he would wake Anakin.

"Obi-Wan, what are you doing here?" Qui-Gon asked it gently, on his knees beside his apprentice.

Obi-Wan was staring at his feet, back braced by the slick corridor wall, inches from his former quarters.

"It's late. You should be—"

"I shouldn't." Obi-Wan countered. His eyes were dry and desolate, identical to his tone. "I shouldn't be here."

Qui-Gon watched the midnight shadows cut angular lines across Obi-Wan's face, and in that moment, he looked less a young man and more a weathered, beaten soul, huddled in the hallway.

He closed his eyes for a brief and bitterly partial recovery, then rested his palms over Obi-Wan's knees. "Come on, Obi-Wan. Let's go back. You're going to disturb Anakin."

"He already is."

Qui-Gon looked hard at him. The awakening had split Obi-Wan Kenobi in two. There was the irrational side, unable to reconcile with reality. And then there were the remnants of a better past, when Obi-Wan would smile, and the old shine would resurface in dusky eyes. Sometimes, he would talk with cryptic undertones that rivaled those of Master Yoda, and Qui-Gon wasn't sure what to believe, which part of his Padawan was the source.

_But then he shook his head, realizing it was ridiculous. Anakin was only a child. "You don't know what you're saying."_

"_And you don't know what you're doing." They were words of rebellion, but Obi-Wan was unaware. His mind was caged, and yet, his freedom was absolute. He said what came to him, without regret or worry of reprimand. It was a drastic change from the apprentice who stood two steps behind him, hands folded. _

"_What am I doing, Obi-Wan?" He knew he would get an honest response, though most likely veiled in dark tendrils of fog. _

_Obi-Wan leaned his head against the wall, and the single tear sliding from his right eye slipped fast down his jaw to his neck. "You're letting go. You're ruining _everything_."_

_Finely sharpened claws clutched his heart, and Qui-Gon felt a hand go to his chest from the pain. "What…what am I ruining, Obi-Wan? You? All I do is take care of you."_

"_I know. You're ruining everything."_

_The incredulity left his eyes wide and mouth half-slack. The conviction that Obi-Wan was often the vessel of uncensored nonsense was suddenly forgotten in the bruising shock of his statements. "How can you say that to me? My entire life is devoted to you, Obi-Wan, to holding on to you." Qui-Gon captured his face between huge, trembling hands. "WHY would you say that?"_

_Obi-Wan gazed at him a few more seconds before his eyes flooded and he shook his head, confusion a bright misery. _

_Qui-Gon guided the tired head to his shoulder. "It's alright, Padawan. I'm not angry with you." But there _was _anger, down to his core. Anger for the lost time and the damaged spirit, still bleeding. When would their suffering be enough? _

"_It's alright, Padawan." Qui-Gon murmured, knowing that while Obi-Wan could speak the truth without conscience or hesitation, he did not share the ability. _

O 

He wanted Obi-Wan to remain on the path, but with Yoda's soft approval, Qui-Gon let him step into the thick, fragrant foliage of the Gardens.

_Qui-Gon walked slower, glancing out at him._

"_Fine, he is."_

"_He's anything but fine." Qui-Gon looked down at the diminutive Master. "You know that."_

_Yoda was not cowed, of course. "In safe surroundings, he is. And safe for us to speak plainly, it is." He hobbled to a bench._

_Qui-Gon sat, a perplexed frown straining his skin. "Speak plainly of what?"_

_The verdant, ever-weary eyes tracked the looping flight of a pastel-winged insect, perhaps so they did not have to focus on the face of Qui-Gon Jinn. "Improving, he is not."_

"_It's a slow process." Qui-Gon explained. "The visions are an enormous challenge to overcome."_

"_And unable, he has been, to overcome them. Tried to meditate on them, has he?"_

_Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan move through the brush and vine, stray leaves settling in his hair and catching on his tunic. "I don't believe he's capable of mediation yet. He won't use the Force in even the smallest ways. It showed him too much, too soon. He's still recuperating from that. He needs time."_

"_How much time will you give? How many more years will you wait, and make young Skywalker wait as well?"_

"_Anakin is taking the required classes. He isn't at Padawan level yet." Qui-Gon told him, with a defensive edge. "And he knows he's important to me."_

"_Know, does he, Obi-Wan's condition?"_

"_He knows Obi-Wan is not completely well." He ground out. "And he has been very caring toward him. Obi-Wan has taught him compassion."_

"_Good, that is." Yoda agreed, "But seen, he has, the devastating effects of Obi-Wan's condition. Think what that could do to him, have you?"_

_Qui-Gon looked down at his hands. "I've tried my best to shield Anakin from that."_

"_But you haven't."_

_Qui-Gon stood. "If I haven't handled this perfectly, then I apologize. I've done what I think is right for Obi-Wan _and_ Anakin. _I _am their guardian and in the end, _I _make the decisions concerning them. What would you have me do, shut Obi-Wan away? Put him in an institution and let him fade away there?"_

"_Asking you to do that, no one is. I ask that you think. Believe do you in your heart, Qui-Gon, that improvement is possible?"_

_Qui-Gon leveled his eyes at the ancient. "Anything is, with faith. I haven't given up on him. Don't tell me to give up on him." And he couldn't bear for the conversation to go any further. He walked away, across the pebbled path and into the graceful heart of the Temple Gardens._

_Obi-Wan was standing with his neck bent, studying the wild, white blossoms that covered the ground and spilled over his boots. _

"_Cream Cascades. From Naboo, of all places." An ironic smirk curled the corner of Obi-Wan's mouth, and he glanced up to meet Qui-Gon's eyes, "You brought them to me. When I broke my leg. You stuck one on my cast, and I laughed."_

"_I remember." And the man's voice was weak, crippled by the brunt of memory. Gods, how all seemed perfect in the current moment, recounting the early days with a shared smile._

_A furrow stitched Obi-Wan's brows. He reached down and plucked a petal from the white expanse. Holding it between his fingers, "I remember. Only one will be left. And it will be burnt."_

_Qui-Gon put his hands over Obi-Wan's. "Don't say that, Obi-Wan." He whispered, hoping that the words were beyond Yoda's hearing. "Come on. Let's go home."_

O 


	7. Part Seven

  
SoloKenobi Thank you! 

**_Insane Jedi Girl _**I'm very glad to know you're still reading. Thanks!

Okay, this is all supposed to be in italics, so if it doesn't show up that way, know that it is all flashback.

O 

_There came a night that decided everything. Between the death and resurrection of the light, lives flexed and hearts splintered. Truth flooded like blood oozing from an ugly wound. It stained everything it touched—and it touched them all. _

_It began with a scream._

_The Universe had drifted off, far from the pressured mind of Qui-Gon Jinn. He was submerged in the first easy living in a very long while, thoughts lost in a thick nonexistence. The evening had been pleasant; he and Anakin and Obi-Wan gathered in the common room to watch an old favorite of the Master's. Anakin held zero interest in the film itself. Instead, he relished in poking fun at the now-antiquated effects and incredibly boring dialogue. Obi-Wan's attention was harnessed to it, and there were several instances in which his mouth would silently mimic the actors' lines. _

_And while it had been Qui-Gon who chose the feature, he was unable to concentrate on it, focus divided between his companions. He acknowledged (within his mind) that he was acting in rebellion, spiting the person who believed the three could not function under the unusual circumstances any longer. _

_He had certainly proven Yoda wrong. By the time the credits began to scroll down the screen, Anakin was curled on the floor, asleep. Obi-Wan held a soft smile on his face, looking over from the sofa to the chair Qui-Gon occupied. _"That was always your favorite."_ He said in a whisper._

_Qui-Gon returned the smile. _"But it's not yours."

"Of course not. It's terrible."

They had laughed then, and it seemed the night was protected from anguish. It seemed an opportunity had been presented to Qui-Gon, to test the ever-unsettled waters of his student's mind. He began with a mild probe and when he was not confronted, it seemed safe to delve further.

But then Obi-Wan screamed.

If he had not been witness to the terrible event, Qui-Gon would have thought someone had subjected the Padawan to severe torture, and that they were grinding away the last vestiges of his resolve, so was the ragged power of his wail.

Qui-Gon was instantly at his side, frantic eyes searching and worried voice demanding an answer. "Obi-Wan, what is it?! Tell me what's wrong!"

The horrible, ceaseless screeching drowned his concerned plea out. He could only watch as Obi-Wan writhed, throat unleashing raw pain. It was a strange thing, then, that through the tumult Qui-Gon could hear a tiny call.

"Master Qui-Gon?"

The man turned to see Anakin standing a short distance away, eyes achingly wide and reflecting the terror that had overthrown Qui-Gon's own soul. "W-What's wrong with him?"

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to offer some sort of explanation, but the cries had changed, molding from senseless fright to coherent words.

"Help! Can't help! Dying and can't help! They're DYING!"

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon thundered, gripping the sides of his face, "Obi-Wan, stop this! Tell me what's wrong!"

Obi-Wan's eyes were in red, watery ruins. He paused and gasped for breath. His lips were spastic, hardly able to form the syllables. "Anakin. Anakin, Master."

Qui-Gon was frozen. Steps resounded in the distance; the door opened and shut. His eyes did the same. Anakin. He rubbed his thumbs over Obi-Wan's cheeks, smearing the tears. "What about Anakin?"

And Obi-Wan grimaced, as though his stomach had been pulled tight. "They'll die and no one will help."

Qui-Gon's skin chilled and prickled. "Who will die?" He asked carefully. "Who will die, Obi-Wan?"

"Please don't tell me to see it." Obi-Wan rasped. "I can't see it anymore…they're all dead." His voice crumbled. "They'll scream forever in my head."

Qui-Gon laid his hands on Obi-Wan's temples. "Open your mind to me, Padawan. Let me hear them scream, so it isn't all in your head." He found his voice to be just as unstable. "Let me take the pain away. Please."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Can't. I can't help them. You can't help me. Help them, Master."

"How can I help them?"

"Anakin. It will always be Anakin, Master."

Qui-Gon leaned forward and kissed Obi-Wan's hot forehead. "I have to go find him now." He ran his fingers through the sopping strands of auburn. "Stay here. Stay right here, Padawan. Things will be different." And then, because he could not leave without giving reassurance, no matter how false, "Everything will be okay."

**O**

To Qui-Gon's supreme relief, it didn't take long to find Anakin. The child was helplessly drawn to the Temple's lower stations, to the shadow-dense, mechanical innards where serenity could be achieved when one was left alone, problem to be fixed and tool in hand. In the work areas, there were no mantras carved into silvery walls, no commemorative busts of Masters from the glorified ages, watching with their dead, carved eyes.

Other initiates delighted in the pools, the salles, the unending realm of discovery waiting in the catacombs of the mystic Jedi skyscraper. But for Anakin Skywalker, the repair floor was euphoria. It smelled of fuel and sweat, stray parts scattered the floor.

If Qui-Gon had been pressed to describe the difference between the workshops of the Temple and the dusty hovels on Tatooine, it would have been difficult for him to come up with a strong contrasting point. And so he saw a boy of both worlds beneath a high, rusted bench, fiddling with a busted comm.

Even in the dim, yellow light, the Master could see the ghost of recent tears on the small face. A sharp twinge took hold of his guts. "Ani," He began, very softly, "He didn't mean what he said."

Anakin feigned interest in the contraption a moment longer, then glanced up. "Then why would he say it?"

Qui-Gon sighed and sunk down beside the morose little figure, "Anakin, what do you think is wrong with Obi-Wan?"

Bruised eyes blinked, but no deliberation passed through them. "You said he was tired."

"And you believe that?"

Slowly, Anakin nodded. "Yes. Isn't it what you told me?"

Qui-Gon couldn't help but smile at the innocence, the inherent trust that beat within the child. He touched his shoulder. "I did tell you that. And it's true, in a way." He paused, then forced himself to continue, "But I haven't told you everything. I haven't told you why Obi-Wan is tired. I guess because I wanted to protect you from it. And I…I just didn't want it to be real.

"But it is real. It's gone on too long for it to be a bad dream. So I should stop hiding. I should be honest with you, as I always want you to be honest with me." He compressed his lips and gathered a weak breath, "Obi-Wan is sick, Ani. But he doesn't have a disease. It's in his mind."

"Is he crazy?" Anakin asked.

"NO," Qui-Gon negated, "He's not crazy. During the battle on Naboo, Obi-Wan collapsed. And then he was in the hospital for a long time."

"And you sent me back here, to Coruscant." The boy supplied, in monotone.

"I did. I thought you shouldn't be marooned in a hospital when you could be beginning your training. I couldn't go with you then, Ani. I needed to stay with Obi-Wan. At the time, no one was…well, no one was sure what was wrong, or what was going to happen. Then they told me he was in something called psychic shock. Things were filling his mind, but it was too much. I tried to help, but he shut himself off from everyone. I couldn't reach him, not even through the Force.

"I still can't. I tried to tonight. I tried to reach his mind, but I think it re-ignited everything he wanted to escape from. That's why he was screaming. He was afraid."

Anakin tucked his knees against his chest. "Afraid of me."

"No, Ani. He's not afraid of you." Qui-Gon ruffled the blonde hair. "He's just confused. The things he says, the things he sees—they don't make sense. But they make sense to him." He regarded the boy with uncertainty, "Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I think so." Anakin glanced down at the comm again. "Is he always going to be like this?

"I want to say no. I want to be able to tell you that he'll get better, but I also don't want to lie to you anymore. So I'll tell you the truth." Qui-Gon rested his chin in his hand and shook his head. "I don't know."

They were silent for a handful of minutes, then hesitantly, Anakin spoke. "I'll tell you the truth too, Master Qui-Gon."

"About what?"

"About Obi-Wan. I'm…I'm afraid of him. I get scared when he says those things. I wish he was back the way he was, so everything could be like it was going to be."

Qui-Gon studied his features intently. "How was it going to be?"

"I was going to be a Jedi. You were going to be my Master." Something in Anakin's gaze tightened, a shining pain brought forth, "But it isn't going to be like that now. I'm not going to be a Jedi, am I? Because Obi-Wan's still sick, and you still don't know what's going to happen. And no one else wanted me to be a Jedi anyway. You had to fight for me, but now you're busy with Obi-Wan. You're fighting for him and…"

"And what?"

"And now no one's fighting for me." Anakin looked away quickly, but the fresh tears were easily seen.

Qui-Gon frowned, bringing an arm around quaking shoulders. "That isn't true, Ani. I'm still here. Remember your birthday?"

Anakin sniffed. "Yeah. It's been the best day since I got here. I just…I just want every day to be like that. I want it to be you and me, like it was going to be."

Oh. "I'm sorry, Ani. I didn't know."

"Sometimes I wish I was back with my mom." The tearful boy whispered. "She loved me and took care of me."

Qui-Gon enveloped Anakin in a sturdy embrace, resting his temple on the crown of the golden head. "I love you too, Ani. And I'll take care of you."

But it seemed that to Anakin, the promises came and went like smoke. They weren't real, and he wept at the realization, hands fisted in Qui-Gon's robe.

As the pain was purged from his charge, Qui-Gon came to a realization as well, and soon after, his eyes were similarly swarmed with tears.

O 

They walked back to the apartment without a single word exchanged between them. Qui-Gon braced Anakin's back with his palm, doing his best to reaffirm what he had said. Anakin needed a guiding force in his life, and not simply because he was the manifestation of ancient prophecy, but because he was a young child in a foreign land, surrounded by strangers.

_And he knew now that they were near strangers to each other, for they had met at a time of dusk, seeing but not seeing, remembering outlines and little else. Anakin deserved better. He deserved to know his Master to the heart._

_But if they followed the current path, nothing would change. If anything, it would create a chasm, and the slave boy he championed would lose the radiance of his potential. He would resent Qui-Gon…and he would resent Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan deserved better, too. For whatever reason conjured in the incoherent, tar-muddled passages of his mind, Obi-Wan was reacting badly to Anakin. Qui-Gon couldn't stand to watch that beloved face contract in the agony and futility of his condition, to see a blameless child and fear it, to live in constant company of someone who was beginning to terrify him. _

_It would be wrong to leave them in this twilight, Obi-Wan mired in nightmare and Anakin cut off from his dream. It would be selfish of him to keep them both there, simply because he wanted them there._

_Qui-Gon had to see beyond himself, melt and meld in with the Force, understand its flow and ultimate plan. _

_The answer was there, cloudless and clear and more painful than a jagged blade to the chest._

_Once home, Qui-Gon settled Anakin in bed and closed the door when he left the darkened room. He brought his hands together briefly, and his fingers were numb, as though the feeling had been eclipsed by long hours in ice water. _

_He looked around the apartment and saw a living portrait of Obi-Wan's apprenticeship. He remembered their first days together, the ready grin that disguised the lack of confidence. He witnessed the years unfold, the boy's talents revealed and then, the man's faith in himself flourish. He saw it all vividly, from the first, and now, the last._

_Qui-Gon briskly wiped the falling memories from his eyes, and turned towards his quarters. Since the sofa was empty, he assumed Obi-Wan had succumbed to his weariness. _

_The journey from the main room to his own was what Qui-Gon imagined the sojourn to hell would be like, and yet, when he arrived, his apprentice wasn't there._

_Heart upset to hard pounding, Qui-Gon returned to the dimmed space they had all occupied so contently hours before. No, Obi-Wan wasn't there…he was outside._

_On the balcony was painted a slender silhouette, standing near the edge, fingers of one hand curled around the railing._

_Qui-Gon went to him, stopping scarcely a foot away. The wind carried the faint taste of frost and Qui-Gon lowered his hands to Obi-Wan's shoulders. "It's cold out here, Obi-Wan."_

_A breath loosed softly. "It's cold everywhere, Qui-Gon."_

_Qui-Gon rubbed his arms. "But it isn't as cold inside. Come on. I don't want you to get sick._

"_I'm not sick." Obi-Wan pointed out. "I'm not really sick at all, you know."_

_The Master's eyes were on the blinking city as he replied, "A minute longer out here and you'll be frozen."_

"_You didn't know I was out here. You couldn't sense me like you once did. Good," Obi-Wan winced and clamped his hand to the side of his head, "_

_That's good."_

"_How can that be good?" Qui-Gon wondered._

_Obi-Wan shrugged out of his touch, taking a step closer to the lip of the balcony. The breeze rippled the fabric across his back. "I told you, Qui-Gon," He craned his neck, to look at his mentor with a moon-striped gaze, "You need to let go."_

_Qui-Gon glanced worriedly at the railing and the enormous drop to the street. He swallowed. "Obi-Wan, come to me."_

"_It's so cold where I am," Obi-Wan said, voice rising to be heard above the gusting tumult, "The screams howl like the wind and it's cold. Anakin."_

_Qui-Gon shook his head, watching Obi-Wan's bare feet. "Come to me, Obi-Wan. Come to me _now_."_

"_It's so cold there."_

"_Obi-Wan—"_

"_Anakin and a shadow. Shivering cold. I'm not sick. I'm not sick. It won't go away…"_

_Qui-Gon rushed forward, capturing his apprentice in a stronghold and dragging him from the ledge. He wheeled Obi-Wan around to face him, "Stop it! Please, stop it!" His fingers were pressed so tight against his student's head the skin was flushing red beneath them. His hair whipped in the roaring night, "Don't do that. Don't do that ever again."_

_Obi-Wan stared at him, new lines trembling in his chin and around his eyes, "I can't stop it. You…you stop it."_

_Gradually, Qui-Gon eased his hands, caressing the tousled hair. "I-I'm going to do what I can." _

_Obi-Wan held himself stiffly, some part of himself that yearned still for the kiss of the open air. But then the years and exhaustion left him crumbling, falling against Qui-Gon's chest._

_Qui-Gon cradled him close, taking them both to the floor and wrapping his robe around the prone body. The hideous thought of what might have been replayed and replayed. He sealed his eyes. "Don't do that again, my Obi-Wan." He pulled back to stroke a gleaming temple. When he saw the gloss in blue eyes, he added, "I'll take care of everything."_

_Obi-Wan brought his hands to his head again; the Master covered those with his broader hands, to lay over the battered and fractured mind of his pupil. Awhile later, Obi-Wan started to speak of tall figures in scarlet surrounding a shadow, and Qui-Gon secured him tighter in his arms and the warmth of the cloak. _

"_Shh." He whispered, while the wind soared._

O 

_The next day there was much to be done._

_Qui-Gon made two calls, to Master Yoda and then to the head of the Temple hangar. He sent Anakin to his classes, explaining in a gentle tone that he would be staying with Yoda a few days while Qui-Gon was off-planet. _

_After that, he packed two bags and washed his face. _

_Obi-Wan was tucked under a mound of blankets during it all. The incident on the balcony left him drained and he slept without a stir of nightmare._

_Qui-Gon didn't want to wake him from the rare respite, so he began to carefully wipe the tear-stained face with the corner of a damp cloth, trying to erase the traces of the night before. _

_But then Obi-Wan's eyes flickered open. "Tired." He mumbled hoarsely._

"_I know. I'm sorry."_

"_Where are we going?"  
_

_Qui-Gon lightly ran the cloth over Obi-Wan's neck before setting it aside. He didn't bother asking how he had known. "We're going on a trip. To Pacia."_

"_Pacia?" Obi-Wan smiled. "Ah, I know that place. We went there to mediate…something. I honestly don't recall. All I remember is the beach. The sand was white. The locals called it what? Oh, dust from the angels."_

Why can't _you_ stay with me? _Qui-Gon agonized privately, desperately desiring to take this sane and whole version and halt the visions from trampling it again. "Angels' dust or not, it was still in our boots a month after we were back on Coruscant."_

"_There's probably a lingering grain or two even now." Obi-Wan laughed quietly. "Why are we going there?"_

_Qui-Gon straightened the braid trailing from behind an ear. "Because I want to take you there."_

O 

_The water crept up on the sand, foamy gray against ivory._

_They left their boots on the fringe of the beach and journeyed the strip with naked toes sinking in the cool sand. Obi-Wan studied the swirling ocean, eyes sparked. "Can we go in?"_

_Qui-Gon regarded the waters with distrust. "Maybe when it's a little calmer." He led Obi-Wan by the arm to a spot between the small house and ocean. They sat._

_Obi-Wan began to roll up his leggings, stopping at the knees. "But it _is _calm."_

_Qui-Gon traced the path of a stray hair down his Padawan's cheek. "Not calm enough for me."_

"_We used to go in. You chased me." The recollection left a tender smile on Obi-Wan's lips as he absently dragged his finger through the white._

"_I don't want to chase you anymore, Obi-Wan. I want you here with me." Qui-Gon looked at the symbol he traced and retraced in the sand. "Obi-Wan, what is that?"_

"_I don't know. I see it superimposed over almost everything."_

"_Is it bad?" Qui-Gon asked._

_Obi-Wan dug deeper, until his nails scraped the darker dirt beneath. "It's horrible."_

_Despite the cryptic reply, Qui-Gon smiled, and smeared away the odd character. "What do you say we go for a dip?"_

O 

The fire crackled in its brick casing. The scarlet-orange flame streamed and clashed. When Qui-Gon thought the heat was strong enough, he joined his apprentice on the beaten couch, securing the towel closer around Obi-Wan's shoulders as he sat.

"I didn't know we were out for so long. It's nearly dark." Qui-Gon observed.

Indeed, the window framed a gathering dusk and the end of the day. It was time he needed to chase, Qui-Gon decided, it was time that sprinted forward without regard for those sputtering in the dust.

Gods, there was only another day left before…

"It was nice to stay out." Obi-Wan said, wet hair drooped in a cap around his face. "It didn't hurt as much. It wasn't so cold."

Qui-Gon blinked against whatever was welling over his vision. "I'm glad to hear that."

"I know you are."

Qui-Gon reclined on the couch, unfocused, half-lidded eyes aimed to the ceiling. He thought in drifts of the swim, gliding along the soothing waters, Obi-Wan shooting down to grab his foot, only to be catapulted almost completely out of the ocean by the extremely ticklish Master. "Obi-Wan—do you know that I care about you?"

"Yes."

"And you know I've only ever done what was best for you, right?"

Obi-Wan turned to him, towel hanging from slim shoulders bronzed lightly by the sun, and he looked almost like the senior Padawan Qui-Gon once knew, relaxing after an intense spar in the arena. The reserve and wisdom of someone far older was present in his gaze. "What would you have me say?"

Qui-Gon was startled by the answer. He didn't want thoughtless agreement, but he certainly hadn't expected this. "I would have you say the truth. Always the truth, Padawan."

A smirk twisted Obi-Wan's lips. "Then stop lying, Qui-Gon. Stop calling me 'Padawan', and tell me the truth of why we're here."

There was the sizzle of a smack on Qui-Gon's cheek, though not a hand was raised. "We're here because I have to do what's best for you." He shook his head, exasperated, "When haven't I done what was in your best interests?"

"The past, Qui-Gon. Just the past. The future—you need to see its priority. Anakin. Not me. I'm not your Padawan."

With a sobered air, Qui-Gon captured Obi-Wan's chin in the crook of a finger. "But you are. There's still tomorrow." He touched the face with a tortured kind of reverence, "I would keep you with me forever. But it wouldn't be right."

"Anakin."

A pang in Qui-Gon's chest. "Yes."

Obi-Wan rested his slim hand on Qui-Gon's forearm. "You must be careful. There is dark. Shadow waiting. It will take everything, it will make everything scream…"

Qui-Gon pressed his finger over Obi-Wan's mouth, not unkindly. "None of that exists here. Alright?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Always the truth, my old Master." He chided.

"But there is always pretend, my Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon pointed out. "There is always that, too."

**O**


	8. Conclusion

**Diane** More? Sure. How 'bout now?

**Athena** Interesting observation about that beach thing. Yeah, uh, of course I thought of that. It wasn't a coincidence at all…heh heh..

**Ewan's girl **Hope your life gets less hectic. Any review at any time is well appreciated. Just glad to know you're reading.

**DeadlyJabberwock** Thank you. I was worried that the small fish thing would come out just a little too bizarre.

**InsaneJediGirl **Sanity can be fleeting, it seems…

**LoriC** How many more posts? Just one, and this is it! Hope you like it.

**O**

_There were illusions that came easily, slipping comfortably in place around the mind like the thick glove that shields flesh from the elements._

_But they weren't children at play, imagining themselves in fantasylands. They were Jedi, and with that came demons, clawing through every net meant to restrain them. All they wanted was a day of peace, to move without the long, falling shadows, to say good-bye._

_Obi-Wan was trying with every vestige of strength in him to fulfill the wish of his mentor, of that Qui-Gon had no doubt. But for years Obi-Wan had unsuccessfully battled the poison coiled in his brain. How could he be expected—how could he possibly win today? There weren't special allowances given. Obi-Wan was ridden with the visions constantly. And it was on the last day on Precia that Qui-Gon was forced to truly accept that he could be beyond any sort of cure._

_In the quiet moments, the soft, wordless times, Qui-Gon would reach out to his protégé. Settled in tender arms, Obi-Wan's face smoothed of the pain, becoming placid amid the sea spray._

_It was a fleeting thing._

_His chest would build with the scenes until he could take no more. The silence was cracked. He would disappear under the torrents of what he saw, heartache and molten clouds and a damning insignia, and he would lose the chance to apologize for ruining the occasion._

_Qui-Gon wanted to stop him. If he could, he would hush the outpour any way he could. But gazing out at the roiling waves, he thought of what that would do to his apprentice, bottling the terror._

_A fever was only banished after sweating it out. The Master kept that at the forefront while his apprentice rattled off gruesome details and repeated the name of a specific child._

_Obi-Wan was sick. It was foolish to delude either of them into believing otherwise._

_Even on this beautiful, terrible day._

_Qui-Gon had been oblivious to the shifting of hours, trailing Obi-Wan down the beach under a fresh dawn. They collected stones remolded by the brush of the tide. Then Obi-Wan lined them up: black, gray and a slightly dingy white, all in a row._

_It struck Qui-Gon as a random place, and a random act at that, but when he questioned Obi-Wan, there was a ready answer._

_"_It's a marker_." The younger man had explained. And then he had fished something from his pocket. His river rock, kindling the Force in its warm red veins, first present from Master to apprentice. He took that cherished object and twisted it down into the sand, in the center of the assembled stones._

_"_But that's your_-"_

_"_I know what it is, Qui-Gon_." Obi-Wan had smiled. "_But I need it here. To remember_."_

_He hadn't understood, but that was of little consequence. Obi-Wan understood._

_The afternoon slipped in covertly, making itself known as they sat by the cool border between sand and water. They had to leave at sunset for the ship. More and more, Qui-Gon's eyes strayed to the sky and to the core of fiery life that would end his with Obi-Wan. Sunset. It wasn't far off._

_He found himself thinking of Obi-Wan's twenty-second birthday. They were in the middle of a highly intense mission, and so the idea of a real celebration was squashed before conception. By dusk, Qui-Gon had been encased in bacta, and was audience to his apprentice's relentless pacing. His Padawan had saved him in a courageous, miraculous, selfless plunge, several stories down. There had been an acrid fear biting across the Master's mind. He thought Obi-Wan would die attempting to rescue him. He was a mere apprentice._

_But they had survived because of him. Studying the impatient tap of a booted foot, smeared by a screen of colored gel, Qui-Gon had experienced a startling revelation._

_Obi-Wan would be a Knight someday—someday soon._

_It had depressed him beyond belief then. He didn't want to let go._

_And, despite the current circumstances, he still didn't. Obi-Wan wasn't being promoted, but Qui-Gon's duty as a Jedi dictated that he relinquish his hold anyway._

_He wouldn't kick and scream, grasping protectively to his apprentice like a paternal beast. He would let go, as Obi-Wan demanded he do, and Qui-Gon would begin to die._

_No one needed to know. Not Obi-Wan, not Anakin._

_He would die in the patch of his heart that mattered most, because he had made the ultimate decision. He had chosen to send Obi-Wan from his home to the sterile, medicine-soaked rooms of the Temple hospice. He would live with it until living was no longer possible._

_"Qui-Gon?"_

_He lifted the head that had sunk to rest against ginger hair. "Yes?"_

_"What will you do?"_

_It was a broad inquiry. There were so many things he could say; any one of them might sate his friend, though none would sate Qui-Gon. "What will _you _do, Obi-Wan?"_

_"I asked you first."_

_Qui-Gon smiled. "Indeed you did, but I am the Master."_

_"If I ask you tomorrow, will you…"_

_"If you ask me tomorrow, I'll simply choose not to listen."_

_And neither of them provided an answer._

**_O_**

_The dark rose tints slowly unveiled in the sky._

_Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan, desperately trying to escape Fate's closing fingers. But the color was there, in soft glints in his Padawan's eyes. It was happening. Merciful Force, Sith hells…it was actually happening._

_"Don't be upset." Obi-Wan said. "It is the way. The right way."_

_Qui-Gon shook his head and in the process, loosed the first tear from his eyes. He ran his fingertip along the strong jaw. "So you tell me. And so I'll tell myself, when this becomes too hard. It's already too damn hard, Obi-Wan."_

_"But Qui-Gon," The younger Jedi smiled, "If it wasn't hard, it wouldn't be worth it."_

_"It's worth it." Qui-Gon whispered. "Because I know you'll be safe."_

_"I don't matter." Obi-Wan told him, as civilly as if he were speaking of bland weather._

_"Oh, my Obi-Wan. You'll never convince me of that." And he gathered his student in his arms, gripping tightly to the warm body, burying his face in soft skin and hair, memorizing every detail. "You matter to me. I won't forget you." He pressed their temples together, and looked intensely into the pale blue gaze. His voice was nothing but a tremble, "We don't end here, my Padawan."_

_Obi-Wan stared at him, and suddenly, the almost content indifference to the event crumbled. Silent anguish streaked down his face._

_Qui-Gon drew him closer. It was his duty-if only for a few minutes more-to give whatever comfort he could._

_They comforted each other, until the sky's thick curtain fell, and the beach was dark._

**_O_**

_Everything was darker, after the sunset._

_When they returned to the Temple, Qui-Gon wanted to stop at the apartment, but with Obi-Wan's insistence, they went directly to the hospice. Qui-Gon's hand was steadfast on his former apprentice's arm as a healer guided them down the corridor. The room was small, and dominated by hulking pieces of medical equipment. Obi-Wan immediately closed the drapes and sat on the bed._

_The healer went on to elaborate on the treatment Obi-Wan would receive. Qui-Gon found he wasn't tuned to the litany, but was instead drinking in Obi-Wan's face, his spirit._

_After the healer left them, Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan's hands. "I can stay here tonight, Obi-Wan. If you're uneasy, I'll stay."_

_"I'm fine. This is my place now."_

_Still, the Master remained l to help him into the white sleepclothes of hospice patients._

_Obi-Wan laid back against the pillows. Fresh shadows were smudged beneath his eyes. "Thank you, Qui-Gon."_

_But Qui-Gon shook his head, settling the blankets over the resting form. "If you want me to stay, I can, Obi-Wan." He brushed the side of his hand across Obi-Wan's forehead. "I…I should stay." He said quietly._

_Obi-Wan didn't reply, and Qui-Gon was eager enough to accept that as an allowance. He sat on the bed's edge. For several minutes, there was silence, as their lives began to shift and prepare._

_Then Qui-Gon leaned down, mouth near Obi-Wan's ear, and murmured an old crèche song._

_By the last verse, Obi-Wan was asleep—and the Master was convinced he would never sleep again._

**_O_**

_The shift was completed, and the Master of Obi-Wan Kenobi became the Master of Anakin Skywalker. Qui-Gon's time was continuously occupied by missions and lessons. Anakin excelled incredibly fast. His skills were so remarkable that some began to believe in the fable of the Chosen One, while others continued to doubt that one young man could kindle the hope for balance in the Force._

_Anakin had inquired after Obi-Wan, initially, but it wasn't long before his focus steered elsewhere. He and Qui-Gon were finally a team. At last, the slave Skywalker had a family again._

_But there were moments when that family was fractured by errant buzzes of the apartment comm., and Qui-Gon would rush to the hospice, staying for long periods of time and always returning a bit more haggard than when he left._

**_O_**

_Over the years that followed, Qui-Gon was plagued by the indecision that came whenever the healers summoned him to discuss a new treatment. He didn't want Obi-Wan subjected to trials or disturbing side effects. As his guardian, Qui-Gon could reject them, and he did, on every occasion._

_The dreams held tenaciously to Obi-Wan's psyche. Some episodes escalated so far that Qui-Gon was brought in. He was the only person able to calm the terrified outbursts._

_But Qui-Gon was training Anakin, and when Anakin progressed into adulthood, more and more missions took them off-planet. Qui-Gon just couldn't be there for every trauma, so a system was installed in Obi-Wan's room, to project a constant stream of soothing music._

_The physicians knew it was a poor substitute. The days wore on, and they took their toll on Obi-Wan._

_Gradually, his speech slowed until he retreated into a private chamber of silence. He guarded his pain from everyone._

_When Qui-Gon would visit, a few words could be coaxed from him, but they were scraps of gibberish again._

_Anakin blossomed into his Knight's status. Obi-Wan sunk into the cold hiding of his bed._

**_O_**

_Qui-Gon never thought the time would come, but it did, and he came to stand beside his former Padawan. He was free from the obligations of an instructor. His other students were grown. Their education was complete._

_So he decided he would learn. He would learn forgiveness. He would mend the swollen wounds of his heart._

_And he would take Obi-Wan away from his prison._

The sensation seemed to lift an ancient weight from his bones. There were whispers somewhere in the back of his mind, worried voices who spoke of Darkness, but he was quite through listening.

"Good morning, Obi-Wan." He smiled, raking the hair out of the stoic face.

Obi-Wan didn't say anything, but Qui-Gon was confident that would change as soon as the scenery did. And the hollow cheeks would fill, the luster would return to azure eyes.

He dressed his charge in a well-loved set of tunics, tossing away the rumpled white sleepclothes.

For a moment, it seemed that their time apart had been but a single night, as the smothered window hinted at a bright morning.

**O**

The fog was swirling heavily.

Qui-Gon was able to keep Obi-Wan close. Unlike their previous sojourn to Precia, Obi-Wan didn't run from him. The chasing was over and for that, Qui-Gon was glad. He hadn't the strength left for such things.

They sat by a spot marked with smooth, dark stones.

Obi-Wan didn't reach for the river rock. Qui-Gon frowned, plucking it from the sand and laying it in the cool hand. "There, Obi-Wan. It's still here."

Obi-Wan flexed his fingers around the keepsake, but said nothing.

Qui-Gon knew he wouldn't see any miracles. Not yet. After all, they both had much to recover from. He cradled his apprentice's head against his chest so Obi-Wan could feel the soft melody of the rhyme.

He sang it while battered streams of mandarin light forced their way through the clotting, gray tendrils.

And he would sing it, surrounded by silence, for a long while.

_The End_

_Thank you for the reviews. It really makes a difference. -LE_


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